Night to Next Day Just Turning
by Sarasusamiga
Summary: A Silver Pair story in haiku, from Ohtori's viewpoint.


**TITLE:**** Night to Next Day Just Turning**

_In the white plum blossoms  
Night to next day  
Just turning_

--The last haiku of Buson, translated by Robert Hass

(Note: Robert Hass owns the rights to his translation! Buson's original work, however, is presumably in the public domain.)

* * *

FANDOM: Prince of Tennis. 

DISCLAIMER:  
Konomi, bless him,  
Has undisputed rights to  
_The Prince of Tennis.  
_

RATING:  
Meant for teens and up;  
At your discretion, reader.  
I doubt that you'll blush.

SUMMARY:  
A Silver Pair  
story in haiku, from  
Ohtori's viewpoint.

WARNING/SPOILERS:  
--For how the Silver  
Pair came to be. Fic follows  
manga. Boys'-love hints.

--Apologies in  
advance for any plotline  
inconsistencies.

* * *

"Each ball I serve with  
heart and soul"—and it flames forth—  
Augh! The net _again_? 

Made the regulars.  
Seems unreal sometimes.  
Do I belong here?

A peculiar cast  
Of characters, the members  
Of Hyoutei's star team.

"Atobe-sama,"  
Sleepy Akutagawa,  
Wordless Kabaji;

Feisty Mukahi  
And drawling Oshitari;  
Taki, paired with me;

And that rough-talking  
Prima donna, Shishido  
Ryou, third singles.

* * *

Careless posturing  
Just cost Senpai his jacket.  
Guess it serves him right. 

Ice in Coach's eyes,  
Disgusted jeers from schoolmates;  
Slow trudge from the court.

Gossip flows for days.  
Through stretches, laps, ball pickup,  
First years snickering:

"So long, drama queen!"  
"Good riddance to that jerk-off."  
"Looks aren't everything."

_Hey, this isn't right,_  
I think—but do not say.  
Just then, I notice:

Leaning by the fence,  
Senpai's whip-thin silhouette.  
I hiss, far too late,

"Not where he can hear!"  
He glares—at _me_—then silent,  
Turning, walks away.

The cold lump in the  
Pit of my stomach lingers  
Through music lessons.

On my way out, I  
stop for a drink of water.  
And then I hear it:

The solitary  
thwacking of a ball against  
concrete. Who it is

I know, sight unseen.  
I round the corner: he's there,  
Sweat-drenched, hair swinging.

I almost back off,  
But he moves and spots me there.  
Just that, and I'm stuck.

Shishido-senpai—  
How did I never notice?—  
Has amazing eyes,

Somehow hungry-bright,  
At least when they're unguarded.  
Next second, they change.

Senpai scowls at me.  
"You, what do you want?" That sneer  
is back, challenging.

"Not a thing, Senpai.  
Excuse the interruption."  
Brief dip of the head.

_Zoom_. He's at my side,  
His harsh grip on my forearm.  
My heart halts, then speeds.

"You, give me a hand.  
That's your job as kouhai, right?"  
I blink down at him,

He grins mirthlessly.  
In all its gory detail,  
He spells out his plan.

* * *

That's how they begin,  
Our meetings in the darkness—  
Brutal, addicting. 

It seems so strange that  
Senpai needs _me_—Choutarou.  
After several nights,

Parents start to fret.  
"That school's working you too hard!"  
"Think he should transfer?"

"Mom, Dad—please, I'm _fine._  
This is where I need to be."  
"…All right. If you're sure."

Faced with so much trust,  
I question what I'm doing.  
How can I tell them:

_Everything's OK—  
I'm working on my Scud Serve;  
Senpai's my target?_

At school next morning,  
I'm cornered by Hiyoshi.  
"Have you gone crazy?"

_How much does he know?_  
"Don't waste time on that loser—"  
"He's fixing my serve,"

I interrupt him.  
Hiyoshi sniffs and glowers:  
"He'll turn and bite you."

Just now, I don't care.  
Something in Senpai's set face  
As he keeps trying

And failing to reach  
My serve, moves me like nothing  
I've felt up till now.

Then comes the breakthrough:  
My serve grasped in his fingers,  
A glow around him—

He meets my eyes and  
For a beat, we're one spirit,  
Silent, triumphant.

* * *

That's it, basically—  
The reason why I would have  
Given up my spot: 

Having shared that fire,  
I saw no point in staying  
With a lightless team.

Others don't get it;  
Likely, not even Senpai.  
Someday, I'll tell him.

**_end_**


End file.
